


The Royal Crown Cures Not The Headache

by mambo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cap!Steve Modern!Bucky, Fandom Trumps Hate, M/M, Modern Era, Modern Royalty, Post-Avengers (2012), Royal Wedding, Royalty, Shrunkyclunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: Prince James is the "People's Prince", second in line for the throne of the United States, and the most eligible bachelor in the world.So why does Steve find Prince James crying at the Princess' wedding?(A modern Cap!Steve Prince!Bucky AU, and my Fandom Trumps Hate fic for Kristen!)





	The Royal Crown Cures Not The Headache

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com) offering! Thank you so much to Kristen for your generous donations to [Planned Parenthood](https://www.plannedparenthood.org/) and the [ACLU](https://www.aclu.org/). I hope you enjoy this fic, and that your charitable act will inspire others to donate as well! I also want to give a shout out to the FTH organizers. FTH has done so much good, and you should be very proud of yourselves!
> 
> As always, thank you so much to my incredible beta [boxofpigeons](www.boxofpigeons.tumblr.com)for your work on this fic. It is so appreciated, even if I did not name this fic "Sponsored by Olive Garden". 
> 
> The title of this fic comes from writer and satirist George Herbert, and I've included some extended warnings in the end notes.
> 
> And before we begin, a quick note: I'm from the United States, and have never even visited somewhere with a royal family. I'm sure there are inaccuracies when it comes to titles, and I apologize for that. I researched the titles the best I could, but also decided that I wasn't going to worry about them too much! Thanks for you understanding!

“Tony said this would be fun,” Steve mutters as he takes a sip of tepid white wine. It’s something fancy from California, though Steve doesn’t have much of a taste for wine. Sarah Rogers didn’t keep wine in her house, and even after Prohibition was repealed and Steve could go out, he’d never choose wine over a beer or whisky. He drank some wine while he was in Europe, but mostly because the Howlies would be so excited for a night off and a decent buzz, and it seemed a shame not to join it. Steve would drink with them, but more enjoyed their company than the actual flavor of the wine. Now, he’s just drinking to have something to do. He never understood how people could become wine connoisseurs; it just tastes like spoiled grape juice to him.

“This is fun for him,” Maria Hill says, watching Tony as he twirls Pepper Potts on the dance floor. They laugh and Tony hams it up for the crowd. More than one diplomat rolls their eyes at him.

Steve sighs, takes another sip of his wine. “When does this end?” he asks.

“A better question would be when can you gracefully slip out without anyone asking questions, and the answer to that would be… not for a while.” Maria nudges his arm. “Perk up, Rogers. A royal wedding is the social event of the century. Be glad you’re here.”

And there we go. ‘Be glad’ she says. They all say that he should be glad. When he watches the bride and groom — Princess Rebecca Harry Osborn — dance, he tries to feel glad. He mostly just feels uncomfortable.

“This won’t be the only royal wedding this century, right? Isn’t there a prince?” Steve asks.

Maria snorts. “Prince James? Doubt that’ll happen any time soon.”

“Is he a kid?” Steve asks. He knows he should know more about the royal family, but between coming back from the dead and aliens attacking New York, the past few weeks have been busy. Even with the wedding, Steve barely had the time to look up who the Princess and her new husband were, let alone their extended families.

“He’s in his twenties, kind of a heartthrob. Doesn’t seem to keen on settling down… A lot of rumors about that.”

“And it’s your job to know the rumors?” Steve asks.

She laughs. “To an extent. I was in his protection detail once for a trip out of the country. He’s a nice guy.”

“Even if he’s a heartthrob?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Just you wait, Captain. I’ll be the one laughing when you’re named _People_ ’s Hottest Man of the Year.”

“ _People_ ’s?” Steve asks.

“A tabloid,” Maria explains. “They’re already obsessed with you, almost as much as they are with Prince James. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Great,” Steve says.

“Buck up,” Maria says, patting Steve’s shoulder as she stands up. “And enjoy the open bar, courtesy of United States taxpayers. It’s my hard earned dollars going into your glass.”

“Where’re you going?” Steve asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as lost and desperate as he feels.

“There’s a senator I need to talk to,” she says.

“Please tell me this isn’t about work.”

Hill just smiles.

“Stay safe,” Steve says, slumping back in his chair. “And don’t do anything that’ll get us kicked out,” he adds, though he really means the opposite. Any excuse to get out of here. She just rolls her eyes at him, and he watches as she disappears into the crowd.

He lasts about five minutes, steadily avoiding eye contact with people who look like they’d like to come over to introduce themselves — and who he is sure he should know, but doesn’t — and finishing his glass of wine before he decides that he needs some air. It’s not difficult to get onto the grounds; there’s increased security, but there are a few other people out there smoking or chatting, talking on their phone. One couple kisses quietly in a corner; he stays clear from them. Steve keeps his head down and just goes as far as he can without security barking at him.

He’s been leaning against a garden fence for a few minutes, hands in his suit pockets, when someone comes stumbling over.

“Shit!” the guy exclaims, tripping over his own feet as he tries to slow down.

“Woah there!” Steve says, reaching forward and catching the guy before he falls to the ground. “You okay?”

The guy looks up, blue eyes bloodshot and wet. “Thanks,” he says, straightening up. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.” He sniffs, and digs in his pocket for a handkerchief. “This is embarrassing,” he adds, with a laugh, then blows his nose.

“Believe me, I’ve walked out of parties crying, bleeding, screaming, all sorts of things. I’m not one to judge.”

The guy snorts. “Thanks,” he says. He takes a deep breath, exhaling audibly. “This isn’t a popular spot.”

“Huh?”

“That’s why I came over here. There’s not usually…” He gestures around the bushes. “People. That’s the word I’m looking for: people.”

“You want me to go?” Steve asks. “It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Nah,” the guy says. “I’m the interloper here.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not having a great time tonight, either.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t,” he says, wiping at his eyes with the corner of his handkerchief. “But I appreciate the solidarity.” He pauses, looks over. “Why aren’t you having a good time?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “Never been one for parties. You?”

“Weddings are… hard,” he says. “Today just got to me a little.” He snorts again. It may be a character trait. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Something about my face makes people trust me,” Steve says with a goofy grin, so that this guy knows he’s kidding. “Don’t think you’re all that special.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” He clears his throat. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve,” Steve says.

“You been here before?” Bucky asks. “To the White House?”

Steve pauses. “I was supposed to come, once, but I had to cancel at the last second,” he says, “but that was some time ago. I assume you’ve been here before given that you have a particular crying spot.”

The guy starts laughing, and it takes a few seconds for him to stop. Steve can’t help but smile, too, knowing that his joke didn’t go down badly. “A few times,” Bucky says when he gets control of himself again. “Not my favorite place in the world, but it’s not my least favorite, either.”

“What’s your favorite?” Steve asks, inching a little closer.

Bucky pauses, thoughtful. “I went to Georgetown,” he says, “and I was a music minor. There were these practice rooms that I’d go to with these terrible little pianos. The rooms were soundproof, technically, but you’d still hear people going out into the hallway and swearing because they were frustrated, or calling their mom in tears on the phone.” Bucky chuckles a little to himself, and Steve bites down on his lower lip a little. “Anyhow, there was this one room, and it was just full of messages from other students, written on the wall. Some were the usual “fuck this” sort of stuff that kids write, but a couple people left little melodies they’d written or encouraging notes.” He pauses. “Sad things, too. Just…” he trails off. “Anyhow,” he starts again, “that’s my favorite place. I miss practicing there.”

“What do you play?” Steve asks.

“Piano,” Bucky says, looking down with a smile.

“Are you a pianist?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “No,” he says. “I’m not.”

“Your Royal Highness,” says someone behind Steve, and he almost ignores it, except Bucky looks behind him like…

Like he’s responding to it.

“The Queen has been looking for you,” says a man in what Steve believes is a Secret Service uniform.

Bucky sighs. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll be back in just a minute.” He looks up at Steve. “I should go,” he says.

“Oh,” Steve says, then shuts his mouth, suddenly embarrassed. It seems like, perhaps, he was talking to a member of the Royal Family. And it seems like he’s completely mucked it up.

Bucky pauses, looks Steve in the eye. “You really didn’t know,” he says, and it’s not so much a question as it is a statement. It looks like there’s a little smile tugging at the edge of his lip.

Steve stands up a little straighter, shakes his head. “I didn’t.” He tries to ignore the blush spreading across his cheeks. While he’s spoken to a few royals in his day, he’s never done so quite so informally, and while he’s not one of those Americans who deifies the monarchy, it’s still an awkward thing. But it seems like Bucky doesn’t mind that Steve has been informal with him. And while their conversation has been short, it’s been a good conversation, fun. Steve hasn’t had much fun tonight, or any day since the forties, really.

Bucky smirks, knocks his shoulder against Steve’s. “It was nice,” he says. “I’m glad we could talk.”

“We don’t have to stop,” Steve finds himself saying. “Talking, that is.”

Bucky inches away, raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “If you’re interested. I don’t have anything better to do, and talking to you has been the highlight of my night so far.”

Bucky bites his lower lip just a little, like he’s mulling it over. Then he smiles. It looks awkward but charming, and Steve really starts hoping that Bucky will say yes. “I have some official duties,” he says. “They could be boring.”

“No more boring than sitting in the corner of the room, talking to no one, and wishing I were at home in bed.”

Bucky bites his lip again, then looks behind Steve to the Secret Service agent standing there, obviously waiting for him. “All right,” he says after a long second. “C’mon.”

— —

While Bucky takes care of his official business, Steve sits with Bucky’s date — a lovely young actress named Gina who Steve should probably know, but doesn’t — and makes some small talk, even taking a selfie of the two of them for her to post to a Twitter page. Steve himself doesn’t use social media, though a very excited Stark Industries intern runs an official Captain America Facebook page that Steve will sometimes record a video for. Apparently his videos are very popular — one of him at the gym ‘racking up the views’ in particular — but he doesn’t pay them much attention.

Steve’s promising to look into her television show, which is apparently very well-reviewed, when Bucky drops into the seat next to Steve. He’s carrying a bottle.

“You ever had Fireball Whisky?” Bucky asks.

“I think that’s my cue,” Gina says.

“Aw, Gina,” Bucky says.

Gina smiles as she stands up and walks over to Bucky. She leans down and kisses him on the cheek. “Thanks for inviting me,” she says.

“You want me to walk you to your car?” he asks. She shakes her head. “Then text me when you get to your hotel, okay?” Bucky says. “And I’ll see you on Friday.”

Gina nods. “Of course.”

He watches as she walks away, then turns back to Steve. “So, Fireball?” he asks.

“Haven’t had it,” Steve says. “Won’t have much of an effect,” he adds.

“Then you get the fun of drinking without the hangover,” Bucky says, grabbing an empty glass from a place setting and pouring some of the whisky into it. He pushes it towards Steve, then pours a glass for himself. “Cheers,” he says, knocking his glass with Steve’s.

“Cheers,” Steve repeats and they both drain their glasses.

— —

The night starts to go by quickly after that. Steve drinks more whisky — Bucky keeps pouring more into his glass — and people from the crowd keep coming up to the two of them, asking them questions, and congratulating Bucky, “even though it’s my _sister_ getting married,” Bucky whispers to him after another senator congratulates him. “It’s weird.”

Steve notices that Bucky drinks another glass, but he does so slowly, drinking water between each sip. Most of the bottle goes into Steve’s glass, which he doesn’t mind. The whisky tastes good, and it’s been a while since Steve’s had something that he actually likes the taste of. He guesses that Bucky needs to keep his wits about him, which is understandable. He’s more than happy to drink for the both of them.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Bucky asks after an hour and a half, when things are starting to wind down a bit. The Princess and her husband dance slowly and a few couples surround them. They look happy. Tony is still up there, arms wrapped around Pepper with a surprising tenderness that makes Steve warm to him. He wonders what it would be like to have someone to hold up there.

“Sure,” Steve says, standing up. “Lead the way.

— —

They head back out into the gardens, Bucky leading Steve along. Steve’s happy to be led — he feels like, ever since he woke up, he’s been trailing behind other people telling him what to do and how to behave in the twenty-first century, and unable to find his footing. But Bucky keeps looking back, telling him little facts about where they are, or personal stories about something that happened at this landmark or that one. “We had this Chief of Staff when I was a kid who… He wasn’t a _bad_ man, but he wasn’t great with kids. Anyhow, he’d come out here to smoke and complain incessantly about stuff with his long-suffering assistant. Becca and I didn’t like him too much, so we got these scary plastic spiders, and we’d attach them to dental floss and dangle them from the upstairs window.”

“Was he scared of spiders?” Steve asks.

Bucky grins. “Yes,” he says.

“That doesn’t seem too princely,” Steve says.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the greatest prince in the world.”

“You’re the best of the princes I’ve ever met,” Steve says.

“And how many have you met?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You,” Steve says, “and a guy in the eighth grade with the last name Prince. Though, I gotta say, he was always staying after school to help the teacher clean the erasers, so he may be a better— Hey!” he says as Bucky elbows his side.

“Whoops,” Bucky says. “I couldn’t control my princely elbows. Must be those Hapsburg genes.”

Steve laughs. “Wow, and I thought the rules of royalty dictated good behavior towards guests.”

“That’s an Arthurian legend. This is the twenty-first century. Haven’t you heard? No one is nice, nowadays.”

“You say that like people were somehow kinder or better in the past,” Steve says, then shrugs. “I’m not sure that’s true. People act as if anyone born before 1980 is an angel, but they never spent an afternoon at the Brooklyn docks in 1935.”

Bucky nods. “You’re probably right,” he says, then looks up. “But you were nice to me,” he says. “Unprompted, even. You didn’t know who I was.”

Steve glances down at his feet, smiling. “Yeah, well.” He looks up again. “Sorry for monopolizing your time.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t apologize! I’m giving it to you freely.”

“I hope Gina wasn’t too offended,” Steve says.

Bucky furrows his brows. “Offended?” he asks.

“That I’ve taken so much of your time. She left early.”

Bucky nods, features smoothing out. “Oh, she’s not… It was a date, but it wasn’t romantic,” he says. “And she I doubt she was offended. We know each other from some charity work that we do. I needed a date for the wedding and she wanted to come. It was really a favor for me. I needed to bring someone or everyone would’ve spent the whole night talking about it. I’ll check in with her later, but it’s not like we’re dating or anything.” He pauses. “Really,” he says.

“Alright,” Steve says, wondering why he’s so vehement about telling Steve that they’re not dating. It’s either that they are dating and it’s a secret or he just really wants Steve to know.

“I’m not dating anyone,” Bucky says, looking up at Steve with a flat expression.

“That’s… um…” Steve says, glad that they’re walking in the dark where Bucky can’t see his blush.

“Are you?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he says.

“Probably tough to schedule dates between bouts of saving the world.”

“Mostly it’s just hard to meet people,” Steve says, too honest. “Plus I haven’t been in this century for that long.”

Bucky smiles. “I could introduce you to some people. You know, I’m a prince. I know _many_ people, some of which are decent.”

“Do you, now?” Steve asks.

Bucky laughs. “I do! I swear! All around the globe. At least six decent people, current company included.”

“And are those decent people all as nice as you are?” Steve asks before looking down, a little embarrassed.

“No,” Bucky says, blunt. Then adds, “‘Sides, I’m not all that nice.”

“You seem pretty nice to me.”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t really know me,” Bucky says. “Maybe I have some kind of ulterior motive here. You think about that?”

Steve snorts. “You need a bodyguard?” Steve asks. “That’s about all I’m good for.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Bucky says, laughing. “I bet you’d be a fine gym teacher. Or maybe a senator’s husband. Dress up, let him take you out for steaks and impress his colleagues.” Steve laughs, too, and then Bucky pauses. Music from the party plays faintly in the background. “I love this song,” he says, lighting up.

“Is this _La Mer_?” Steve asks.

“ _Beyond the Sea_ ,” Bucky says. “Same song, English lyrics.” He starts to sway to sway a little, smiling. “ _Somewhere beyond the sea_ ,” he starts singing in a low baritone. “Wanna dance?” he asks.

Steve chuckles. “Sure,” he says. Bucky takes his hands and swings him back and then close.

Very close.

Bucky’s laughing and singing along to the song, leading Steve in a dance that’s fun and unpredictable, even going so far as to stand on his tiptoes so he can twirl Steve around. Steve finds himself grinning and hamming it up a little just so Bucky will laugh, too. It’s fun like Steve hasn’t had fun in ages, and it feels as though he’s known Bucky for a lot longer than this one night.

And then the song changes to _Moonlight Serenade_. “I know this one, too!” Steve says, happy for something familiar after a night of so many unfamiliar things, including the songs.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Do you wanna keep going?” he asks, still holding onto Steve.

Steve shrugs, cheeks heating up a little. He moves closer to Bucky and puts a hand on the small of Bucky’s back. “I don’t dance much,” Steve says.

“I dance too much, so we’re even,” Bucky says as they begin to sway back and forth. It’s a quieter song, and their dance is quieter, too. There’s something intimate about it, and Steve wonders again why Bucky is letting him monopolize his time like this. After a minute or so of the song plays, Bucky says, “I gotta say, I’ve danced with a lot of people, but I like dancing with you.”

Steve bites his bottom lip in an attempt to to clamp down on the stupid grin that’s threatening to spread across his lips.

“I’m glad we ran into each other,” Steve says.

“So am I,” Bucky says. “You kinda saved what had the potential to be a very shitty night.”

“I wouldn’t give myself that much credit,” Steve says.

Bucky straightens up and pulls away just a bit. Steve feels colder for it. He looks Steve in the eye. “I’d give you that credit,” he says. “You’re just… a stand-up guy.” His eyes flick down, for just a moment, to Steve’s lips, then go back to Steve’s eyes.

“That’s kind of you to say,” Steve responds, voice a little breathless.

Bucky moves back in. “I should probably go after this dance,” he says.

“Oh,” Steve says, trying to mask his disappointment.

“But I think we should see each other again,” Bucky says, not looking at Steve’s face.

“I would like that,” Steve says, maybe a little too quick, too eager.

“Okay,” Bucky says. He moves in even closer and they sway until the song is over.

And then Bucky pulls away a final time. “I’ll call you,” he says.

“You don’t have my number.”

He grins. “I’m Prince James of the United States. I can get your number,” he says with a wink.

— —

“Where’ve you been?” Maria asks when Steve gets back to the dwindling party. “I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

“Aren’t you trained in espionage?” Steve asks, still feeling a little dazed from the whole evening. He didn’t know what he had expected when he walked into the White House, but it hadn’t been… whatever that was, this evening with Prince James. No, this evening with Bucky.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to exert that much effort finding _you_.” She shrugs. “Honestly, you’re not that high on my list of priorities.” She pauses, then looks at him with narrowed eyes. “But where were you?” she asks. “Now I’m curious.”

“I made a friend,” Steve says, pragmatic.

“That’s beautiful,” Maria responds, sarcastic. “You ready to head home?”

“Sure thing.”

He takes one last look at the party, the wide room with its sparkling lights, the well-dressed guests and empty bottles of champagne. It was a good night, he thinks. One of the best he’s had in a long time. He gets that feeling in his chest, the one that you get when you know that a good thing is about to end. But he’s also feeling… hopeful. For the first time in a while.

He hopes Bucky will call.

He _wants_ Bucky to call.

— —

Of course, he doesn’t expect Bucky to call _immediately_. He hasn’t been in the twenty-first century for long, but he has been long enough to know that there are certain societal rules for things like calling someone you just met. Still, Steve finds himself laying awake in bed that night, filled with anticipation like a kid on Christmas morning. After an hour of tossing and turning he gives up, turning on the lamp on his bedside table and getting up. He fixes himself a sandwich — ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato —, pours himself a glass of milk, and settles down at his desk in front of the laptop computer S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him for both work and personal use.

He takes a bite of the sandwich and boots up Mozilla Firefox, then types “Prince James United States” in the search bar.

There are millions of hits.

He forgoes the Wikipedia article — someone told him that Wikipedia is notoriously unreliable, though he wonders why it always pops up first if it is — and clicks instead on a _Vanity Fair_ article from a year ago, “A Coffee in Georgetown with Prince James”, written by Christine Everhart.

 

> _I meet Prince James on a Friday afternoon at a coffee shop in Georgetown called Red Poppy. He’s tired-looking, and a little rumpled. “I had an exam today,” he explains. “An important one.” I ask him how he did and he laughs. “Okay, I think. I don’t know. I walk out of an exam thinking I did okay and I got a C. Sometimes I walk out thinking I failed and I got an A. Grad school is rough like that.”_
> 
> _Prince James is in his final year at Georgetown University, his mother, Queen Winifred’s, alma mater. As an undergraduate he double majored in Political Economy and Classics. Now, he is getting a master’s degree in Urban Planning. He tells me that it was his plan all along to do this full program._
> 
> _“I want to be useful,” he explains. “I don’t want to watch things happen from the East Wing of the White House. I want to be out in the world. Maybe that’s naive; not a lot of princes do much that’s useful.” He chuckles. “But right now, I just want to pass my seminar this semester.”_
> 
> _I can’t help but laugh along with him._
> 
> _Prince James has managed to keep to himself during his school years, but as his graduation looms closer, the public has taken a keen interest in the young prince. While he’ll be the first to tell you that he’s “just a normal guy,” there’s something about his aura that draws people to him. Whether it’s the baristas he knows by name, or a former classmate who stops to chat about a recent talk they both attended, people are just drawn to Prince James. In his presence, it truly makes sense why people consider Prince James to be the “people’s prince” — in a world where the American monarchy has become increasingly distanced from the public, Prince James prides himself on being an American, a radical concept that I had never before considered._

Steve reads on, digesting the author’s interpretation of an afternoon spent with Bucky. It’s a long read, especially compared with most of the articles he comes across on the Internet, but it’s actually interesting, unlike most of the articles Steve has come across on the Internet. And Steve can see Bucky shine through the author’s (somewhat gratuitous) prose.

It makes Steve smile.

And he can’t help but notice one particular portion of the text:

 

> _With his sister’s upcoming nuptials to Oscorp heir Harry Osborn quickly approaching, many are asking about Prince James’ love life. When I ask, he gives me a tight smile. “I don’t have one,” he says. I raise an eyebrow. It is honestly difficult for me to believe that someone in Prince James’ position — let alone someone in Prince James’ position with his personality and good looks — doesn’t have a slew of girlfriends. “I really don’t,” he insists when I press._
> 
> _“Anyone who would be in my life would be subject to the scrutiny of the media, of the United States as a whole. I can’t date just to date. It wouldn’t be fair to whoever I was in a relationship with. If I… When I find someone I care about, who I can’t imagine being without, I’ll cross that bridge. Until then, I’m not with anyone. When I am, people will know.”_
> 
> _I bring up the recent photos that surfaced of he and actress Emma Watson enjoying an afternoon together in New York City. He scoffs. “Emma and I are friends,” he says. “I appreciate what she does with the United Nations, and how she speaks out on issues of feminism and literacy. She does important work, and that’s what we talked about together. It wasn’t anything more than that. I also believe that she’s in a relationship with someone, and has been for some time. She can do, and continues to do, much better than the likes of me.”_
> 
> _“It’s hard to believe anyone can do better than you, Your Royal Highness,” I say._
> 
> _He rolls his eyes. “I’m not that great,” he says. “And my sister is lucky. She and Harry met each other before either really understood what their positions in the world would be; they were childhood friends who fell in love. I don’t have someone like that.” He looks out the window at the busy Georgetown street outside. “In an ideal world, I’d want to be with someone who doesn’t care that I’m a prince. That’s naive and I know it, but that’s where I’m at.” He shakes himself, then honest-to-goodness blushes. “Sorry,” he says. “I know that’s a little out there.” I assure him that it’s fine, and he says, laughing, “It’s not like I’ll be meeting anyone anytime soon. I’ve still got finals.”_
> 
> _And that’s what’s so charming about Prince James. He’s a prince and is acutely aware of that fact, but if he weren’t, if this were to all disappear tomorrow, you know that he’d land on his feet, as comfortable in a Georgetown coffee shop as he is in the West Wing._

— —

Smiling — and finished with his sandwich — Steve goes back to the Google search and refreshes the page.

And the first article that pops up?

_Prince James cozies up to Captain America as date Gina Rodriguez leaves the White House alone_

Eyes wide, Steve clicks the link. The article begins with a grainy photo of Steve and Bucky sitting together at the wedding, the half-full bottle of Fireball Whisky sitting between them. It’s a candid photo: Steve is mid-laugh, eyes closed and smiling, and Bucky is looking up at Steve with a little smirk. If the context were different, Steve would think that the photo was almost charming.

But it’s on a paparazzi website, and the article is relatively unkind.

 

> _It was a rough night for_ Jane the Virgin _star Gina Rodriguez! Gina was spotted leaving the White House alone, after accompanying Prince James to Princess Rebecca’s wedding this evening. Gina left the party early while Prince James drank Fireball Whisky with Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America, AKA the vintage hottie of our dreams. Cap dumped his unidentified date to sit at Prince James’ table, and the two of them spent most of the night chatting and drinking._
> 
> _Poor Gina! Though we have to say that if we were her, we wouldn’t mind being the middle of the sexy American sandwich that is Prince James and Cap!_

It’s cringeworthy, and desperately unfair to Gina, who was nothing but kind and gracious. A wave of fresh guilt washes over Steve, and he berates himself for not thinking of her feelings; though, she hadn’t seemed put out as she left. If Bucky calls, he’ll have to ask after her, maybe offer to make it up to her in some way.

If Bucky calls.

It’s almost three in the morning by the time Steve closes his laptop. He probably shouldn’t have spent so much time reading about Bucky and the royal family, but his curiosity got the best of him. It’s almost ironic that he finally did the reading that he should have done prior to the wedding done after it.

Now he just hopes that it won’t be for nothing.

— —

One day passes, then another.

He goes to the Triskelion on Monday for a briefing over something minor that happened over the weekend and the wedding’s security, but it barely takes an hour. He tries to distract himself with a movie after, then supper at a restaurant with a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but he finds himself checking his cell phone constantly, finally understanding the addiction that twenty-first century people seem to have. He didn’t realize that it’s not so much the cell phone, but the potential that the device carries with it.

“Waiting to hear from a girl, Rogers?” Agent Sitwell asks with a lecherous smile.

Steve clears his throat, and slips his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” he says.

“That’s not a no,” Agent May says.

Steve doesn’t correct her.

— —

He’s packing his gym bag the next day when his phone starts ringing. He picks it up without looking at who it is as he distractedly searches the bag for his stick of deodorant — still a modern novelty, but a welcome one. “This is Rogers,” he says as he picks up.

There’s a pause on the other end, then a voice says, “Steve?”

Steve straightens up, dropping the sweaty towel he’s holding on the floor. “Bucky?” he asks.

There’s a low chuckle from the other end. “You sound so surprised.”

“It had been a few days. I wasn’t sure…”

“If I would call?” Bucky asks, completing Steve’s sentiment.

Steve nods, then remembers he’s on the phone. “I just wasn’t sure,” he says.

“I’m a man of my word,” Bucky says, chuckling. It sounds so intimate over the phone, so close to Steve’s ear, and Steve bites down on his lip, feeling tense and excited. “Anyhow, I’m calling you with an invitation.”

“For what?” Steve asks.

“I work with a local charity group that runs art programs for at-risk DC youth. I was thinking that an art lesson with Captain America would be completely kick ass.”

“Kids?” Steve asks with trepidation.

Bucky laughs again. “You kid-phobic?” he asks.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with kids,” Steve admits.

“It wouldn’t be a big deal. You’d think of a craft and my assistants will get it prepared ahead of time. Then you’d lead the group, maybe take a few pictures with the kids and give some hugs.” He adds, a little quieter, “I’d be there, too, in case of any emergency, like if a kid licks you or something.”

Steve barks out a sharp laugh. “You know, I hadn’t considered licking as an issue I’d have to worry about, but now that you mention it—“

“No, no, forget I mentioned it, then! I promise that no licking will come your way.”

“Well, if you promise,” Steve says.

“I do.”

Steve clears his throat. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

“Great,” Bucky says. “We should probably meet beforehand, just to go over the details and figure out your crafts.”

“Crafts?” Steve asks. “It’s plural now?”

“Well, we usually make two things per session, but if you _want_ to be the biggest Grinch in DC…” he says, trailing off.

“Grinch?” Steve asks. He’s pretty sure it means something like ‘spoilsport’, but he should check. He’s been proven wrong before; though, it’s Tony’s fault that he misunderstood what Google meant. He takes after his dad in that way.

“Oh, it’s from a kid’s Christmas story published in the fifties. There’s a character who is green and steals Christmas, and—“

“Steals Christmas?” Steve asks. “How can someone steal a holiday?”

“That’s sort of the point: you can’t. It’s a… It’s a little hard to explain.” He pauses, then adds, “If you want to come over and watch it, I’m free this evening.”

“Are you inviting me over to watch a kid’s Christmas movie in September?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “I am.”

Steve grins. “What time do you want me there?”

— —

“Hi!” Bucky says, rushing into the room as he loosens his tie. “Sorry, sorry, so sorry I’m late. My meeting went overtime; God, politicians never shut up. How long have you been waiting?”

“Not too long,” Steve says, standing up. He gives a small, awkward bow. “I’m not sure how I should…” he says, red-cheeked as he straightens up.

“Oh my God, please don’t,” Bucky says, smiling. “You don’t gotta get up for the likes of me, let alone do… all that,” he says with a gesture towards Steve.

“Maybe I was just getting up to adjust my pants,” Steve says.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “If that’s how you adjust your pants, we need to give you some lessons.”

“Maybe I should take you up on that,” Steve says, sitting back down.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sure, that’ll be my next big charity work — getting Captain America a pants tutor. Definitely a good use of my time. Actually, if you don’t mind waiting just one minute longer, I’d really like to get out of this suit.”

“Fine by me,” Steve says with a smile.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, walking back through the door. “It’ll be just a minute!” he calls as he scampers away. Steve sighs and nods, slumping down in his chair and taking a deep breath. He hadn’t realized how his heart had started pounding as soon as Bucky walked in the door.

God, he’s such a sad sap.

Steve waits in a literal theater, with three rows of plush red seats and a screen on the wall. It’s smaller than most theaters — especially modern ones with their rows and rows of seats and screens that stretch as far as the eye can see, but it’s still a little surreal to sit in an actual theater in someone’s home. After his security check a Secret Service agent led him here, told him to sit, and promptly left him there to wait alone. Maybe it’s because he’s Captain America and the government assumes that he’s not a threat to them, but it seemed a little odd that he was left there to his own devices.

And now he’s waiting again, thinking about why exactly he’s doing this. It’s not like Steve doesn’t realize what he’d like from Bucky in an ideal world. He’s attracted to Bucky, and it felt, maybe, like Bucky was attracted to him, too. But he also realizes that the chances of the latter being more than just a trick of Steve’s own mind, brought on by the romantic atmosphere of the wedding and their chance encounter, are slim. Still, even if Bucky isn’t interested in him romantically, Steve would appreciate having a friend that has nothing to do with his work at S.H.I.E.L.D.. If Bucky is willing to be that friend, Steve is happy to have him.

“Tah-dah,” Bucky says as he opens the door. He’s in a worn, grey long-sleeve Georgetown shirt and a pair of jeans, wearing only socks on his feet. But he’s carrying a silver tray with two milkshakes on it. “I didn’t know what flavor you like, so I got vanilla. I’m also assuming you _like_ milkshakes, but won’t be offended if you don’t want it. Though I picked out the sprinkles myself,” he says as he walks towards Steve, tray in hand.

“Vanilla is my favorite,” Steve says, reaching out and taking one of the milkshakes from Bucky. “Thanks, this is really thoughtful.”

“Least I can do, making you trek all the way over here to watch a kid’s movie.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Steve says. The milkshake is in an actual glass, with a dollop of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles on top. He takes a sip through a red and white striped straw. “This is great,” he says.

Bucky takes a sip of his, looking at Steve as he sucks the straw. It is, frankly, very cute, and Bucky smiles when he stops. “I’m glad you like it,” he says. “I have this thing for milkshakes.” He pauses, looks up at the screen. “So, uh, the Grinch?” he asks.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Steve says. Bucky pulls a remote from his back pocket and presses a few things. The lights turn down and the movie starts.

— —

Steve can tell that Bucky looks at him during the movie. Just little glances here and there, lingering when Steve laughs at something (which he does pretty frequently — the movie is charming). Steve manages to catch him once. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks, whispering even though there’s no one else in the theater.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, dropping his gaze down to his lap. He’s also whispering, and it feels sort of secretive and fun. “I’m always curious to see how people respond when I show them something,” he says, looking up at the screen as the Grinch tiptoes around in a Santa costume.

“And am I responding well?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks back at him for a long moment. “You’re perfect,” Bucky says, quietly, before he looks back at the screen.

— —

“How did you like it?” Bucky asks when the movie finishes and the credits start to play.

“It was cute, clever.” He laughs. “I’m surprised they show this to kids, because it’s obviously anti-capitalist propaganda.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “ _That’s_ what you took from it?” he asks.

“I’m taking the _obvious_ message of the film, whether or not people want to acknowledge it.”

“Are you suggesting that Christmas spirit is synonymous with socialism?”

“No, just saying that the spirit of the movie is anti-capitalistic. It’s not necessarily socialistic but it’s an argument against materialism. Though, the way they come together as a community does speak to a collective nature.”

Bucky grins. “I’m not supposed to say this, so keep it off the record, but I’m gonna say that I agree with you there.”

Steve’s smile falls. “Why shouldn’t you say it?” he asks.

Bucky shrugs, looks ahead, and sighs. “I’m a prince,” he says. “I’m not supposed to have political opinions.”

“As a national icon, neither should I. But I was also, at one time, a card-carrying socialist.”

“I read about that,” Bucky says, chuckling as he turns back to Steve.

“Read?” Steve asks.

“I may’ve done a little snooping after we met,” Bucky says. “I’m only a quarter-way through Doris Kearns Goodwin’s _A Boy From Brooklyn: Captain America Before the Army_ but I’m learning a lot of interesting stuff about you. Have you read it?” Bucky asks.

“I lived my own life. I’m not sure I need to read about it,” Steve says.

“Ahh, but have you read the exclusive interview with your landlord’s cousin about the one time he chased you away from his dog?” Bucky asks. “It’s a real doozy.”

There’s a pause.

“I was allergic to dogs,” Steve says, quiet.

Bucky laughs, throwing his head back against the theater seat. “Years of academic inquiry down the drain with a single sentence!” he says, then shakes his head, getting control of himself. “We should talk about your crafts,” he says, voice sounding a little strained.

“Oh, uh, I hadn’t thought about it that much,” Steve lies. “What sort of crafts do people do?”

“Anything, really. I mean, we’re not painting masterpieces, but anything that can be done in an afternoon. I was thinking the kids could make paper replicas of the shield, and maybe little sculptures of Mjolnir, if you don’t think those are too lame.”

“Not lame at all!” Steve says. “Those sound like great ideas.”

Bucky smiles again. “Good, and those are easy to set up. I’ll let everyone know that you’ll be fine with that.”

Steve nods. “Then…”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want,” Bucky says, quick. He clears his throat, then adds, “I mean, if you’re busy you should go, but if you…” He stops, sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he says. “I sound like a moron.”

“I’d like to stay,” Steve says. “Have other Christmas classics that I may’ve missed?”

“It’s September,” Bucky says.

Steve shrugs. “I can be in the Christmas spirit if you are.”

“I’ll see if the kitchen can make any gingerbread!” Bucky says, standing up. “Wait here,” he orders as he dashes out of the room.

Steve stares at the door he leaves through, staring at it with a stupid smile on his face.

— —

Bucky falls asleep on Steve’s shoulder during _The Nightmare Before Christmas_. It’s two in the morning and there are abandoned plates of cookies and milk sitting on the floor next to them. Steve waits until the end of the movie — because it’s beautiful, but also because he doesn’t want the moment to end — then Steve takes his jacket, which he shucked off earlier, and drapes it over Bucky. It’s not much, but he doesn’t want to be too invasive.

“I’m gonna go,” Steve says, quietly.

Bucky sort of grunts in response.

“Thank you for a really great night,” he adds.

Bucky smiles and hums, and continues to snooze.

— —

Steve wakes up to three text messages.

_I can’t believe you just left me there. My neck hurts like hell._

_Thanks for the jacket, though. How much do you think I could make selling it on Ebay? [Wikipedia Link: eBay]_

_If you want to hang out again let me know._

Steve smiles, adjusts himself on his bed so he can type easier.

 _Sorry for leaving, but it was getting past this old man’s bedtime. And I don’t think you’ll get much money at all — it’s polyester._ He presses send, bites his bottom lip and starts typing again. _I’d like to hangout whenever, wherever. Your schedule is probably fuller than mine, so name a date._

He gets started making coffee when his phone buzzes.

_You free for lunch?_

_Yeah,_ Steve texts back, _I am._

— —

But first, Steve has a meeting at the Triskelion.

“Hey there,” Natasha says, taking the seat next to Steve’s. “Good to see you.”

“Same to you,” Steve says. “How was Morocco?”

She gives him a half-smile. “Peachy,” she says. “And how was the royal wedding?”

Steve ducks his head, smiling as he thinks of last night, and his upcoming lunch with Bucky. “It was a fun time,” he says.

“I heard you met Prince James,” she says. Steve looks up and nods. “He’s a nice kid. I worked his security detail last year after another agent dropped out at the last second.”

“Maria said she’s worked his security detail before, too. Is there a reason S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are on it so much?” Steve asks. “Seems unusual.”

Natasha nods, steady. “If he goes out of D.C. the White House will usually ask for an agent or two. Less in the past few months, but there was a point where he was getting a lot of threats.”

“Threats?” Steve asks, straightening up. “Why? From who?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You seem upset,” she says.

“I’m just curious,” he says, voice level.

She gives him a half-smile, and he knows that she’s seeing right through him. “There have been some rumors about him that upset some people.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“That he’s gay,” Natasha says.

Steve’s throat feels dry. “People were threatening him because of some rumors?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. “But threats don’t usually mean much. The royal family is constantly bombarded with threats. But the only actual attempt on a royal in twenty years happened just after Prince James’ graduation from his master’s program. It was a December graduation, so the ceremony was small and security was sparse. Someone pulled a gun, managed to shoot him in the upper arm.” She touches her own arm on the spot. “They also killed one of his security detail. Things were lax — six years at Georgetown and there had never been issues, but things got out of control. Since the rumors started he had gotten more threats than any of the other royals, but they didn’t take them seriously.”

“He was shot,” Steve says slow, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“It was a relatively superficial wound, though he made it worse himself. He jumped in front of one of his classmates to push them out of the way. He probably saved their life, but  he got jostled around a lot… It could’ve been pretty bad. He’s had to do a lot of physical therapy after that, though I’ve heard that his arm is in much better shape now.” She says it so casually, like it’s not breaking Steve’s heart.

“Anyhow, the threats ramped up after that, and Prince James was in bad shape mentally for a while. I heard he didn’t leave him room for a few weeks after it happened, except to go to the guard’s funeral. Some paparazzi got photos of him standing at the grave. Looks like it all hit him hard.”

“And the rumors?” Steve asks. “Have they been substantiated?” He hates himself for asking.

Natasha shakes her head. “He goes on more highly-publicized dates now, always with women, but none of them stick from what I’ve heard. But he’s also been more closed-off since the accident, apparently. He doesn’t give as many interviews, apparently, though he never gave a ton. This only made the media speculate wildly about his mental state. One tabloid published something about another bullet hitting his brain, which apparently made Princess Rebecca livid. But most of the coverage was kind. He’s been a media darling since he hit puberty.” She looks at him and smiles. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Steve’s eyes widen, then he looks down. “I couldn’t say,” he says.

Natasha chuckles. “You two looked very nice together in those pictures from Princess Rebecca’s wedding.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, cheeks red.

“Romanoff, Rogers,” Fury says, walking in with Sitwell close behind him. “If you’re done gossiping we can get started.”

“Sure thing,” Steve says, straightening up and ready to pay attention.

Then his phone buzzes. He glances down and sees a text from Natasha:

_You think he’s handsome._

He glances over at her, but she’s looking over at Fury with apt attention.

Though, maybe she’s smiling, just a little.

— —

“I like this place,” Bucky says after they’ve been seated for lunch. It’s a quiet place, not too far from the White House, run by an Italian family who greeted Bucky by his nickname, rather than “your highness”.

“It seems nice,” Steve says, distracted.

Bucky is wearing long sleeves again, and Steve doesn’t want to focus on that but he does. He wore long sleeves at the wedding, and again when they were watching the movie. Does he have a scar? Is that why? Does he feel self-conscious about it? Steve doesn’t know if it would be appropriate to ask. People constantly ask him invasive questions about the procedure — did it hurt? did his dick get larger? — so he knows how obnoxious it can be. But he wants to know everything about Bucky, even the things that aren’t so pretty. Lord knows Steve has his scars, too, even if you can’t see them anymore.

“Do you like Italian food?” Bucky asks, opening up a laminated menu.

“Yes,” he says. “There were Italian places in Brooklyn, back when I was younger. They were great, run by grannies with a backroom that most of us weren’t allowed in. When I was younger — and my mom had a little cash to take us out — I’d try to take a peek at the men back there in their suits with their cigars. This reminds me of those more than most places now.”He pauses, looks over to see if Bucky is bored. He’s looking at Steve over the top edge of his menu, smiling. Steve doesn’t feel too awkward to continue, which is a surprising change for him in this century. “It’s the smell, I think. You can smell, right? It’s like the whole place has garlic soaked into the walls. Tony… Tony Stark, he invited me to an Italian place in Times Square. The Olive Garden? I think he thought of it as a joke. I can’t say it was the best food I’ve ever eaten, though I liked the breadsticks. It didn’t seem anything like this, though. I missed this.”

Bucky grins. “I think  Olive Garden is a national laughingstock.” He pauses, then adds, “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“And why is that?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks down at his menu. “If it got out, someone from  Olive Garden’s headquarters would take it as a personal attack from the monarchy on his company and demand some kind of contract with the government because of it, and the next thing we know I’ll be contractually obligated to eat nothing but Olive Garden specials all day long.” He shudders. “I like soup, salad, and breadsticks as much as the next guy, but there’s only so much I can take.”

“Has this happened before?” Steve asks.

“No, but capitalism has its ways.”

“First _The Grinch_ and now an anti-capitalism rant. I get the feeling that you have particular political opinions.”

“Nope,” Bucky says, popping the “p”. “No political opinions. No opinions of any kind, actually. Well, I’m allowed to believe that kids should be able to do art, just not that should raise taxes so they can have actual art classes in schools.”

“Well, if you have no opinions, then you’ll let me choose what you order?” Steve asks, trying to make Bucky smile.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “What did you have in mind?” he asks, and Steve can see the corner of his lip quirk up.

Steve scans the menu for a few minutes. “You like calf’s liver?”

“This was a mistake. Our friendship was a mistake.”

“Are we friends?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks down at the menu, smiles a bit. “Sure,” he says. “I think we are.”

— —

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Prince James,” Natasha says at the Avengers team meeting two weeks later.

“He’s a nice guy,” Steve says.

“Prince James?” Tony asks from across the room. “Sweet kid.”

“Everyone seems to think that,” Steve mutters.

“It’s true. Though, I tried to convince him to study engineering when he was in high school but he went into urban planning. Ridiculous,” Tony says, plopping between Steve and Natasha on the couch they’re sharing in Stark — no, Avengers Tower.

They were called out together — well, everyone besides Thor, who is still in Asgard — for a brief mission in Arizona; some apocalyptical goons were holding a kindergarten hostage thinking it would save them from the coming end-of-days, or something like that. Frankly, Steve hadn’t been paying as much attention to the _why_ , as much as the _how are they gonna get these kids outta there_. He’s been texting Bucky when he gets the chance, telling him about the mission (without any details that could be sensitive) and updating him about his own well-being.

 _Stay safe_ , Bucky kept texting back.

Honestly, it’s nice having someone in the world who cares whether Steve lives or dies. It’s been a helluva long time since Steve had someone to check in with at all.

“Anyhow, his sister is a piece of work.”

“She is?” Steve asks. She hasn’t been around, even during the few times Steve came back to the White House for one reason or another. Bucky says she went on her honeymoon with Crown Prince Harry, then headed straight on a tour of American military bases that will last a month. After that, she’ll be with American troops overseas. She has a full schedule, and a very different on than Bucky does.

“Mm-hmm. She followed in her dad’s footsteps — total military training. Went to the military academy, then West Point. Apparently, she’s a tactical genius, but she can be… intimidating. She sat in on a few weapons deals that I made back when I did that sort of thing, and she could haggle prices down with the best of them.” He pauses. “Even _I_ was impressed.”

“Are they close?” Steve finds himself asking. “She and Prince James?”

“How should I know?” Tony says.

“She’s older than him,” Natasha says.

“He’s got more of a… humanitarian reputation,” Tony says. “The apple of America’s eye, as one magazine put it. Better for fluff pieces about selecting a new royal china.”

“Charming,” Steve says, wishing Bucky were here so they could both roll their eyes at Tony.

“So you two are bosom buddies?” he asks. “I’ve seen a few Internet articles saying you’re best pals nowadays. Some cute pictures, too. Prince James and Cap go to the ballgame, Prince James and Cap go shopping, Prince James and Cap go down on each—”

“We’ve spent some time together,” Steve interrupts. “We’re… friends,” he adds, deciding that he likes the way it feels to say that. He hasn’t had the chance to say it out loud before.

Natasha chuckles. “Not exactly what I would’ve expected,” she says.

“And why shouldn’t they?” Tony asks. “Just think of the profits if the United States government put out a calendar featuring the two of them shirtless. Every person in the country attracted to men would want it on their wall. Hell, I think _most_ people would want it, just for the novelty, if nothing else. Ceremonial coins be damned, let’s get the shirtless American hotties. I’ll order one for every employee of Stark Industries for Christmas.”

Shirtless, Steve thinks, may be an issue. Though, he still hasn’t gotten the chance to talk to Bucky about his arm, and Bucky still wears long sleeves every time they see each other.

“You’re annoying,” Natasha says, standing up.

“I’m a genius,” Tony says. “You don’t get to where I am with shitty ideas!” he calls after her.

They sit together on the couch for a moment, quiet. Tony moves in a little closer. “Given any more thought to moving here?” Tony asks. “I’ve got your suite made up for you. It’s very tasteful — I let Pepper decorate. No American flags in sight. You could move in any time.”

“I’m actually pretty happy in D.C.,” Steve says. Tony raises an eyebrow. “I am, really.”

“How anyone can be happy in that half-city, I do not know, but I respect you and your decisions enough not to pry. But know that you’re always welcome here,” Tony says.

“Thanks,” Steve says, smiling.

Steve thought he’d want to move back to Brooklyn once things were settled, he really did. And there’s no place like New York City. New York is a part of him, as much as Captain America is. But there’s someone he cares about in D.C., and right now? That’s enough.

— —

Still, it’s tough to leave the city. New York was his home for so long, and there’s a part of himself he leaves when he leaves the city. That being said, it’s not like spending an evening drinking and eating David Chang in Stark Tower is anything like the city of his childhood.

The city of his childhood is gone.

It’s time for him to make a new home.

— —

“Hey,” Bucky says, sliding up next to him. They’re at a local banquet hall, Steve spreading out plastic tablecloths. It’s a benefit for veterans that Bucky does every year, and he asked Steve to help. Of course, he was happy to help, and would have done it even if Bucky weren’t going to be there. But having Bucky there? It makes the time go by quicker, and leaves a smile on his face.

“No slacking, Steve,” says Sam Wilson. He’s a VA employee and one of the people Bucky works with on this event. Steve’s pretty sure that he’s seen him on the same mourning running route a few times, but he could never bring himself to talk to him. Turns out he’s just as great as Steve thought he’d be, and more.

He also has one of the most charming smiles Steve has ever seen, but he keeps that fact to himself.

“Aye aye,” Steve says, spreading the tablecloth out. “Can you look at the other side and see if it’s straight?” Steve asks Bucky.

“Sure thing,” Bucky says, circling the table and adjusting it. “Better?” he asks.

“Definitely,” Steve says, smoothing out the last of the wrinkles. “Been a while,” he adds, looking up at Bucky.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Is a week a while?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “It is when you spend most of that week fighting the forces of darkness,” Steve says, “then sure. It’s a while.”

Bucky straight-up snorts.

It’s as charming as Sam’s smile.

“I’m glad that you’re home safe,” Bucky says. “I was worried you wouldn’t be back in time for the event.”

“You’re just glad that I’m here to help put up the decorations no one else can reach,” Steve says.

Laughing, Bucky raises his hands to his chest like he’s being arrested. “Caught me,” he says.

“Always an ulterior motive,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Sam says, coming to the table. “If you have time to flirt you have time to put up some garland,” he says, holding up a plastic bag full of green sparkling garland and pushing it towards Bucky.

“Are you giving me orders?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

Sam looks him dead in the eye and says, “Yes.”

No apology, no “your highness”. Just the straight-up truth.

This Sam guy’s alright.

— —

The event is a success. While most of the veterans there are somewhat used to Bucky — he’s been there every year since he was a kid — Steve is an exciting novelty. They line up to take pictures with him, but they’re more respectful than most photo requests that he gets. And he’s happy to do it; a lot of the vets say that the photos are going straight to their kids, who are big Cap fans. One man excitedly sends the picture to his grandfather, who was a World War II vet. There’s something special about having these opportunities to meet with people that Steve thinks Bucky understands. S.H.I.E.L.D. tends to send Steve out to dinner with senators and diplomats, which is fine, but doesn’t make the same emotional impact on him or the people he meets as these events do.

He’s almost sad when they finish up the event. He’s not as tired as he was after the children’s art event — because even Captain America gets tired when faced with a hoard of screaming six-to-twelve year-olds — and he wishes that there was something else he could do, some other way to make a difference. He decides that cleaning up is about the best he can do now. Later, he’ll go home and see about getting involved with more.

“My sister usually comes to this,” Bucky says as they the same plastic table cloth that they had set down earlier off of its table. “Becca, I mean.”

Steve has noticed that Bucky doesn’t talk about her all that much, though he’s tried not to read into that too much. Still, the memory of what Tony said about her is still fresh in his mind, and he’s curious about Bucky’s relationship with her. Steve knows enough history to know that relationships between royal siblings aren’t always cordial, but he doesn’t see Bucky as the type who would plot against his own sister. Though, he’s been wrong before — as much as he loathes to admit it.

“Is she still on her honeymoon?” Steve asks, balling up the tablecloth and throwing it into a trash bag. It feels wasteful, but it’s what Sam told him to do. Bucky picks up a trash bag and starts filling it with the plastic plates and cutlery from another table.

He shakes his head. “No, she and Harry came back to the States. They’re doing a tour of army bases. The military is her area of expertise.”

“Not yours?” Steve asks.

Bucky snorts. “No,” he says. “I’m the second child; I got a choice.”

“And she didn’t?” Steve asks.

Bucky stops bagging up trash for a moment and frowns. “She did, on paper. But it was what was expected of her. And she excels at it — if she didn’t, she could’ve changed course, like my dad did when he was young. He went to military school but got a degree at Yale. She went to West Point, instead.” He goes back to the trash. “I went to public school, like a slob.”

“Does she call you a slob?” Steve asks, quick and concerned.

Bucky looks at him confused. “No,” he says. “She’d never say something like that.”

“Oh,” Steve says.

“She’s really kind,” Bucky says, quieter. He takes a few steps closer to Steve, and Steve gets the feeling that he doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “People forget that about her because she’s got all this military experience and she’s a little reserved, but she always looked out for me. And when my uncle tried to force me into the Naval Academy she arranged everything with Georgetown, down to my dormitory deposit. She didn’t want me to have to go into military service if I didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to.” He pauses, says quietly, “Don’t tell anyone about that. Okay?”

Steve nods. “Of course,” he says. Then asks, “Your uncle?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Alexander Pierce. He’s… a piece of work.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Steve says, trying to place the name.

“He’s head of the World Security Council, and a lot of people think of him as quite the diplomat. They haven’t had to have Thanksgiving dinner with him.”

“I’m guessing he’s not your favorite person.”

Bucky shakes his head. “He is not,” he says, but doesn’t add anything else.

They finish their clean up tasks and check in with Sam to make sure there’s nothing else that the two of them can do. “Nah, you kids go home.” He shakes each of their hands. “Thanks for your help. Everyone here really appreciates it. It’s nice to know we have friends in the White House, and wherever it is that you live,” he says to Steve. They laugh.

“We don’t let him in there,” Bucky says, straight faced as he points to Steve.

“You see the way he hung those garlands?” Sam asks Bucky with eyebrows raised. “Completely crooked. I wouldn’t let him around my interior decor, either.”

“Hey!” Steve says, and the other two laugh again.

They say their goodbyes to Sam and the other organizers then head out. “You want a ride home?” Bucky asks.

“I rode my bike here,” Steve says, almost wishing he hadn’t. He’s selfish, but he hadn’t the same kind of alone time with Bucky that he usually has. He tries to be satisfied with a great evening and doing some good in the world, but he still wants time with Bucky.

He wants all of Bucky.

Bucky smiles, nods. “Well, goodnight then,” he says.

“Yeah, goodnight.”

They pause, looking at each other.

“Or maybe you could come back to the White House and we could grab dessert?” he asks, shuffling his feet. “Or even go get ice cream somewhere? Just something? We haven’t seen each other in a while, you said so yourself.”

“Ice cream?” Steve asks, completely charmed.

Bucky shrugs. “It could be fun,” he says.

“I have an idea,” Steve says with a grin.

— —

“What is this?” Bucky asks as they walk into the small, almost muggy restaurant.

“Fondue,” Steve says, keeping his voice steady.

Bucky’s eyes get wide. “Fondue?”

“You dip—“

“I know what fondue is,” Bucky says, knocking his shoulder into Steve’s side. “You took me to get fondue?” he asks.

“If that’s—“

“It’s really great,” Bucky interrupts, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve actually never had fondue before.”

“Even though you’re royalty?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t get _everything_ I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well, I’m glad that I can give this to you,” Steve says, putting a hand on the small of Bucky’s back as they make their way to the host stand.

Bucky looks up. “You say that like you haven’t given me anything before this,” he says.

“I haven’t, though,” Steve says.

Bucky stops short a few steps away from the host stand. “But you have,” he says. “You have.”

He looks up at Steve and Steve looks down at him. In the dim light of the fondue place, it’s almost easy to believe that it’s just the two of them, that Steve could put a hand on Bucky’s hip and draw him close. It’s an undoubtedly romantic atmosphere, and made that way purposefully. But Steve can’t let himself be swept up on it. Bucky is still the Prince of the United States of America, with a team of Secret Service agents watching their every move.

So he just nudges Bucky towards the host stand and asks the host if they can come in just for chocolate fondue.

— —

“You should meet my parents,” Bucky says at the end of dessert.

Steve swallows a marshmallow covered in milk chocolate (mixed with a little crunchy peanut butter, the restaurant’s speciality). “What?” he asks.

“Next week, maybe. If we can fit it into everyone’s schedules.” He pulls an iPhone from his back pocket. “Does next week work for you?” he asks.

“In theory,” Steve says. “But why would you—“

“It’s honestly weird that you haven’t met already, you being Captain America and everything,” Bucky says.

“I’m not sure…“

Bucky looks up from his phone. “You don’t wanna meet them?” he asks, face blank in the way Steve has come to learn means that he’s upset but can’t let people know it.

Steve shrugs. “It seems a little formal,” he says.

“We can make it informal. We could eat hamburgers on the floor if it’d make you comfortable,” Bucky says, and there’s an earnestness in his voice that makes the joke fall flat.

“I’m not going to make the King and Queen eat on the floor,” Steve says with a little smile.

“They want to meet you,” Bucky says, voice quiet. “And I want you to meet them. It’s important to me,” he says, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Why?” Steve asks, the word catching in his throat.

Bucky shrugs, looks down. He puts down his fondue fork and pulls his hands under the table. “We spend a lot of time together,” he says, finally, after a long pause.

“Alright,” Steve says.

“Really?” Bucky asks, perking up again.

Steve shrugs. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“We outlawed the guillotine ages ago,” Bucky says, grinning. He picks his fondue fork back up, reaches over the table and steals a strawberry from Steve’s plate, dipping it in the last of their chocolate, and shoving it in his mouth with a grin.

It’s a good night.

— —

“What should one wear to meet the King and Queen of the United States?” Steve asks Natasha on the phone later the next day.

“Things getting serious?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, flipping through a rack of suits. They all seem pretty similar, and he’s a little too intimidated to actually talk to a salesperson about what he should buy. He’s had a few suits in his life, but they’ve either been secondhand or given to him by the United States government. Buying himself a suit in a store? Now, that’s a new kind of Herculean task.

“You’re going to visit the parents,” Natasha says. “Some people consider that to be a pretty serious step in a relationship.”

“It’s just dinner,” Steve says. “What suits are in style right now?” he asks.

“You should ask Stark. I’m not an expert on menswear.”

“But Stark would—“

“Mock you mercilessly?” Natasha supplies.

“Yes,” he says.

Natasha hums, thoughtful. “Blue suit, slim fit.”

“Alright,” Steve says, grabbing what he thinks is a blue suit in a slim fit off the rack.

“And good luck.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “I’ll need it.”

— —

The King of the United States of America is a dignified man with a cleft chin, which his son inherited, and pepper grey hair. His eyes are duller than Bucky’s, a murky blue that still manage to be piercing as they watch Steve. Even though he’s dressed in a plain suit, his posture and presence are regal, and he has a way of catching people’s eyes even when he’s just standing still. But he also has lines around his eyes and mouth, and when he speaks in his low voice, there’s something warm about it, especially when he speaks to Bucky.

The Queen of the United States is tall, and sits with an ease, grace, and stillness that must be trained. Next to her, Steve feels twitchy and bumbling. Her hair is pulled up into a chignon and she wears a silky beige shirt with a navy skirt. Her hair is lighter than Bucky’s, and her eyes look more like his do than his father’s. When she laughs, Bucky smiles. Steve doesn’t know her that well, but that’s enough to make him warm to her quickly.

Dinner is a muted affair, the four of them at a small table in a White House dining room. They don’t have hamburgers, but the food is good ol’ Americana, which Steve appreciates. He’s more adventurous than people give him credit for — he did, in fact, spend some time in France — but he appreciates the thought.

“Captain Rogers,” the King of the United States says.

“Yes?” Steve asks, pausing his fork on the way to his mouth. It’s corn pudding, and it’s very good.

“I’ve read that you were employed by the Works Progress Administration in the thirties. Is that correct?”

Steve nods, surprised at the topic of conversation. “I was,” he says. “Not for long, but I managed to get in there for a while. It was very competitive; I’m not sure that people outside of the arts realized that, but it was hard to get employed. The artists that were employed appreciated the work, though. Hard to sell a canvas when people can’t afford soup.”

The King nods, thoughtful. Steve takes the opportunity to eat his bite of corn pudding. “We have so many paintings from that program still sitting in warehouses outside of the city without any sort of organization. Some may be quite good, but we have no real way of knowing until some budget is allocated to their cataloguing.”

“That’s a shame,” Steve says.

“Some of your work may be there,” the King says. “If you’re interested, we can find it for you. It may be the push that Congress needs to find that funding in next year’s budget.”

“Dad,” Bucky says, giving him some kind of look that Steve doesn’t quite understand.

Steve smiles. “That’s not necessary,” he says.

“It’s your work though, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to revisit it?” the Queen asks.

Steve sets his fork down on the side of his plate, hoping that he’s doing it the right way. “It’s probably best that those paintings don’t come out.”

“Why is that?” the Queen asks, eating a small bite of corn pudding.

“People don’t want to see Captain America as an artist,” he says, and leaves it like that.

Bucky moves his foot so it touches Steve’s ankle for a long moment. Steve doesn’t know why it feels so good, so right, but it does. He shoots Bucky a small, grateful look.

Just then, the door to the dining room opens with a bang and several Secret Service agents file in, flanking a man in a grey suit. “Richard, whatever it is, it should wait,” the King says. He smiles at Steve. “We have an important guest.”

“Your Majesties, your highness, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need you all to get to the safe room right now.”

“What?” the Queen asks, setting her fork down gently on the edge of the plate. “What is it, Richard?”

“There’s sensitive—“

“You can say whatever it is in front of Steve,” Bucky says. Richard looks to the King, who nods. “Princess Rebecca is missing, and our intelligence is telling us that it is likely that she was kidnapped.” The Queen gasps quietly. The King’s face goes white. “We advise that you go to the Situation Room while this predicament unfolds. There is not, at the moment, any sign of a domestic threat, but it’s best we keep you close and together.”

The King nods. “Alright then,” he says, placing his napkin down on the table, then standing up. “Winifred, James, let’s go.”

“Steve should come with us,” Bucky says.

“I’m not sure that’s—“ Richard starts.

Bucky stands up, interrupts Richard. “Steve _will_ come with us,” he says. He looks to Steve. “Right?” he asks, wide-eyed, scared.

Steve smiles. He stands up and takes one of Bucky’s hands in his. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m going to get in touch with the other Avengers, see if there’s some way that we can help.”

Bucky swallows hard. “You’re not gonna let me convince you otherwise, right?”

“I have a job to do,” Steve says. “And if I can help your sister somehow, I will.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Bucky says.

“I can’t promise that I won’t, but I can tell you that I’m pretty tough.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand. “So are you.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says, voice cracking.

“Well, Your Highness, I think I’m gonna have to disagree with you on that.”

Bucky nods, then sighs. He looks down, then over to his parents, quickly, before looking back at Steve. “Okay,” he says. And then he’s lurching forward, wrapping his arms around Steve and squeezing tight. “You better come back,” he says. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, not bothering to listen to the voice in his head that says it’s awkward to hug the Prince in front of the King and Queen. He lets himself shut his eyes for a moment and memorize the way he feels at this moment, Bucky safe in his arms.

“I’ll try,” he says.

“And bring my sister with you, okay? She doesn’t need to be such a drama queen.”

The King snorts — a family trait, apparently. “Pot calling the kettle black,” he stage whispers to the Queen, who chuckles.

“Everyone…” Richard says, sounding increasingly nervous.

“James,” the King says, a warning.

Bucky gives Steve a final squeeze. “Alright,” he says. “Alright,” he repeats, quieter.

“See you soon,” Steve promises.

He watches from the hallway as the royal family is ushered away.

Bucky watches him from over his shoulder, too.

— —

The mood on the plane is tense. Steve sits next to Natasha, wringing his hands, watching as two S.T.R.I.K.E. team members play war with the pack of cards one of them snuck in. “Nervous?” Natasha asks, barely over a whisper.

“Not for the mission,” he says.

The mission itself is simple: the team will distract and take down any operatives who will be in the way. Steve will find the Princess and get her back to the plane. He’s seen the location’s blueprints, knows where she’s rumored to be. It shouldn’t be too difficult, and they’ve got support from the Army, as well as the United Nations.

It’s Bucky, he’s worried about, and the way that Bucky looked at Steve, eyes wide and terrified, as he was shepherded with his parents towards their safe room. He shouldn’t focus on that, but he can’t help it. On previous missions he’s been able to, at least, send Bucky a message about where he is or what’s going on, but he was expressly ordered not to make contact with anyone, lest they lose their secrecy. That, coupled with the fact that he didn’t have the time to get in touch before they set out, puts Steve on edge. It hurts not to let Bucky know that he’s doing okay.

She looks at him. “Clear your head, Rogers. We’ve got a job to do.”

“I’ll try.”

He doesn’t know how well he’ll succeed.

— —

Turns out, he doesn’t need to succeed at all. The team crowds around a small TV in the corner of the plane to watch a news report.

“Princess Rebecca emerged from the enemy bunker, having already negotiated preliminary peace terms with the state militia that has been at war with the United States for the past two years. When asked by military officials on what happened, Princess Rebecca reportedly replied, ‘There has been too much bloodshed on both sides of this war. While these terms are not yet official, I believe that they will lead to a diplomatic discussion that can end this war. Peace should be the goal of any encounter, and both sides agree on that.’

“Princess Rebecca has been criticized in the past for the primacy of her military training in comparison to her diplomatic training, but many pundits are now saying that this scenario proves that she can handle herself in even the most difficult of diplomatic scenarios. We’ll be reporting further when we receive more information from the White House.”

“Jesus,” one guy mutters.

“That’s insane,” says another.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Natasha asks Steve with a little smirk.

Steve nods. “Seems like she handled herself well.”

“An understatement,” Natasha says.

“Excuse me,” Steve replies, stealing away from the crowd. He grabs his things from an upper rack and fishes his phone out of his bag. He shouldn’t be checking it while on a mission — even if, technically, the mission never happened — but he feels like these are extenuating circumstances. It takes a few seconds to turn it on, then another few for his notifications to load.

He has fifteen missed calls and twenty texts.

One of the texts is from Tony, asking if they have everything covered, and another is from Clint wishing him luck.

The rest are from Bucky.

Steve puts his bag away but takes his phone with him into the restroom. He closes and locks the door, then calls Bucky.

It rings once, twice, Steve’s heart beating in rapid succession.

Then Bucky picks up. “Steve,” he says, like he’s sighing.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” Steve asks.

There’s a pause, long enough that Steve checks his phone to see if he’s lost the connection. “I’m being selfish,” Bucky says, finally, “but can you come here? As soon as you can?”

“Of course,” Steve says. “As soon as I can.”

“Okay,” Bucky says.

And then he disconnects.

— —

“The amount of debriefing we have to do when we didn’t step foot on foreign soil is ridiculous,” Steve says, arms crossed in some conference room in the Triskelion. They’ve been sitting there for hours, waiting around and doing _nothing_. Government bureaucracy has never bothered him so much before, and he lived through the Great Depression.

“You have somewhere better to be?” Natasha asks.

Steve looks at her, level. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”

“Then go,” Natasha says. “I’ll cover for you.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asks.

She nods. “What’ll Fury do, fire me? Or _you_? Just go.” She waves him away. “And tell Prince James that I say hi.”

Steve blushes, but keeps a straight face. “I will,” he says.

— —

It’s about four in the morning three days after Steve’s dinner with the King and Queen when Steve finally makes it back to the White House. Still, the guards wave him through, and he manages to get to Bucky’s bedroom without any real issues. But he hesitates when he gets to the door. “You can knock,” says one of the Secret Service agents stationed outside. “I don’t think he’s asleep.”

“Are you allowed to say that?” Steve asks.

The guy shrugs. “I don’t think he’ll be angry with me for telling _you_ ,” he says.

Steve doesn’t want to try to unpack that.

So he knocks. Moments later the door opens to a Bucky who looks like…

Hell. He looks like utter hell.

His eyes are red-rimmed with deep purple rings underneath. His hair is greasy and all over the place. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the first short-sleeve t-shirt Steve has seen him in since they met three months ago. When the fabric moves a certain way, he can see a red and white ropey scar right where the sleeve of his shirt ends.

“Steve,” he says, sniffing.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

Bucky reaches out and grabs his sleeve. It’s not until then that he realizes that he’s still in his Captain America stealth suit — he hadn’t thought to change out of it, even when he was waiting for the debriefing. His mind was just… elsewhere. Here, with Bucky. Bucky pulls Steve into the room and Steve relents, then closes the door behind him.

Bucky all but collapses onto Steve, weeping.

“Buck?” Steve asks, going rigid for a long moment. But with Bucky clutching at his uniform and pushing him against the door, he hesitantly puts one hand on the small of Bucky’s back, and the other at the back of his neck. “C’mon now,” he says. “Things’re okay.”

Bucky shakes his head and cries into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve knows that it won’t help to keep prying when Bucky is crying like this, so he just stands there and pats at Bucky’s back, hoping that it does something to comfort him. He doesn’t know how long they stand there, Bucky clutching at Steve, and Steve helplessly trying to give him some semblance of comfort, but knowing that there’s not a whole lot he can do to help.

After a while, Bucky gets control of himself. He stops sobbing, but still tightly holds on to Steve. “I’m sorry,” he says after a few deep breaths.

“It’s alright,” Steve says.

“No, it’s not,” Bucky says. “I shouldn’t be like this.”

“It’s been a difficult few days for you, for everyone. It’s fine to show a little weakness. I don’t mind.”

Bucky snorts. “More for some than others. Did you see what my sister did?” he asks.

Steve nods. “She was very brave.”

Bucky chokes back a sob. “I’m not like that,” he says. “I wish I could be brave like her, but I’m not like that.”

“Neither am I,” Steve says.

“You’re brave,” Bucky says quietly after a long pause. “You’re very brave.”

“There’s a difference between bravery and stupidity,” Steve says. “I toe that line frequently; or, that’s what my superiors tell me, at least.”

Bucky laughs, and pulls back. He looks up at Steve with bloodshot eyes. “I wish I could be more like you,” he says. There’s snot dripping from his nose, but he’s still the best thing Steve’s ever held in his arms. He loves him. It’s not as difficult to admit it to himself as he thought it would be, but here it is. He loves him, and he wouldn’t want Bucky to be anything more or less than who he is right now.

“I like you exactly how you are, Bucky,” Steve says, hoping he doesn’t sound too honest. He squeezes where he’s holding Bucky’s arm. “I wouldn’t have you change for the world. You don’t have to be me, or your sister. You’re Bucky, and that’s who you need to be.”

Bucky is quiet for a long moment, just looking up at Steve with his wide blue eyes. “Thank you,” he says, finally.

“Will you tell me why you’re so upset?” Steve asks. “Your sister is safe, things are moving towards peace… I want to understand what you’re thinking, feeling.”

Bucky looks down, then nods. He pulls himself out of Steve’s grip and heads to his bed, where he sits on the edge. “Take a seat, or pull up a chair or something.”

Steve nods, and walks to Bucky’s desk. There’s an open notebook on it with handwritten music staffs and notes, and the rest is covered in pencils and crumpled up pieces of paper. It makes Steve smile that in a house of such organization, Bucky’s desk is a mess. He grabs the chair and carries it to Bucky’s bed, setting it in front of Bucky, then sitting down. “This okay?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “It’s… I don’t want to talk.”

Steve nods. “Alright,” he says. He starts to stand, “I’ll—“

“I have to though,” Bucky says. “I can’t… I have to be honest.”

Steve sits. “I can stay as long as you need. Take your time.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. “I once took a seventy-year nap. I’m not to keen on taking another.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’s not funny,” he says.

“You’re right,” Steve says with a straight face. “It’s _hilarious_.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s… You’re…” He chokes back another sob. He presses his hands to his eyes and breathes hard for a few long moments. Steve waits, and eventually Bucky pulls his hands away and looks back up at him. “Okay,” he says. “I think I’m ready to start.”

Steve nods. He takes one of Bucky’s hands in both of his, rubs along the knuckle. “Okay,” he says, quiet, with a small smile.

Bucky takes a breath, then begins. “There were a few hours during all of this where I thought I may end up as king one day,” Bucky says. Steve nods. “And that… Rebecca is so strong, so good. People misunderstand her, but she’s suited to be a leader, to be _the_ leader. It’s not just her training, either. She’s honest and knows what’s good for people. She has a moral compass that’s always pointed towards the right direction. I think that you do, too. I’m not like that. I’m just… I’m a liar,” he says, face contorting into a look almost like horror. “I’m a liar.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, squeezing Bucky’s hand, wishing he could smooth out the worry lines from Bucky’s expression.

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m a _liar_ , Steve. Becca doesn’t lie; _you_ don’t lie. I lie every single day.” He takes a shallow breath, then looks up at Steve with the same terrified expression he had when he was marched down the hall towards the Situation Room.

“What do you lie about?” Steve asks, not following what Bucky means.

Bucky looks past Steve, the horror not leaving his face. “And there I was, sitting with my parents, as advisors and military generals grilled me about what would happen if Becca were to die, the steps I’d have to take as the next in line for the throne and I just sat there thinking _I can’t do this_ . I couldn’t be the king of a country, I _couldn’t_ because I’m a liar, and it just wouldn’t work.”

“Bucky, whatever it is, politicians lie. That’s what they do.”

Bucky looks back at Steve, jaw set. “Politicians lie. Royalty doesn’t.”

Steve isn’t so sure that what he’s saying is true — there’s a lot of historical precedent to the contrary — but he nods. If Bucky wants to be the kind of royal who doesn’t lie, then Steve will support him.

“I can’t be a king, Steve,” Bucky says.

Steve squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to be. But Bucky, I’m sure that if something happened to Princess Rebecca you _could_ —“

“No, I can’t,” Bucky says, chuckling ruefully. “I’m gay,” he says, voice cracking.

“What?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m gay, homosexual; I like _men_ ,” he says. “There’s been rumors; I know that. There’s always been rumors, ever since I was a teenager. I don’t know how they knew, but they did, and they’ve talked about it ever since” He swallows. “But they’re true. I’m gay, and I can’t be a king.”

“I don’t see how they’re mutually exclusive,” Steve says, trying for the joke. It falls flat.

“I’d be living a lie,” Bucky says. He sighs. “I’m living one now.” He shuts his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. He smiles at Steve, sad. “You know, I always thought it would be okay. I would be the old bachelor prince who never found ‘the one’ but who the country still likes. I’d go on dates with celebrities every so often and talk about how I’d settle down _some_ day, but never actually would. Everything would fizzle out, and people would forget who I was seeing, and I’d forget how lonely I was. It was never the ideal situation, but it was one I could live with. Now, though. Now, I’m not so sure that I can do that. I can’t, actually. I can’t do it anymore.”

“And why’s that?” Steve asks, throat dry.

Bucky shakes his head, just a small movement, eyes never leaving Steve’s. “Because I met someone who I want to be with. I didn’t think it would ever happen, but I met someone who I can’t imagine going through life without. I didn’t want it to happen, but it did, and now I’m here and… Steve,” he says, voice cracking. “I need you to tell me a few things.”

“Whatever you need,” Steve says, voice breathy, quiet.

“I need you to tell me you don’t want me.”

He looks at Steve with wide, vulnerable eyes. His expression is somewhere half between hope and pain, and his hand — still in Steve’s — is shaking.

“I can’t,” Steve says. “It’s like you said: I’m not a liar.”

Bucky swallows and his eyes start to fill with tears. “Tell me that you don’t want to be with me.”

“I can’t,” Steve repeats.

“Then tell me that you won’t be with me.”

“I can’t.”

Bucky glances down, a few tears slipping from his eyes, then back up at Steve. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

“But I do,” Steve says. He leans in closer to Bucky, takes both of his hands in his. “I love you, Bucky.” He gets closer, because he has to let Bucky know, has to have Bucky see. “I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s crying in earnest now, but he smiles as he says, “I love you, Steve.”

Steve leans forward, slow, telegraphing his movements to Bucky. He moves a hand to Bucky’s face and leans in further. Bucky closes the space between them, and they’re kissing. Bucky’s lips are soft and his hands are warm. Their noses brush against each other as Steve adjusts himself and Bucky chuckles low against Steve’s lips.They kiss for a few minutes, sweet and smiling before Steve pulls away.

“I don’t care if you want to keep things quiet,” Steve says. “I really don’t. I love you, and if you’ll have me, I’ll stay with you for as long as you want me around. If that’s a day, a month, a lifetime, I don’t care, you have me. I’ll keep it a secret and watch you go on dates with other people. I don’t care about that. I know what it’s like to carry something like this with you, and I don’t want to be the barrier to your happiness.”

“You’re not a barrier to my happiness, Steve. You… You’re what makes me happy. You know what happened, with the…” He swallows hard.

“The assassination attempt?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “It’s felt like I’ve been treading water since then, just trying to stay afloat. And then with Becca’s wedding reminding of everything I’d never have, it was all so hard. I didn’t feel like anything would ever be right again. It felt like a sign when I ran into you. I didn’t want to dream that it could ever be… That you could feel the same…”

“I do,” Steve says, because Bucky needs to know, has to be _sure_ of what Steve feels for him. There can be no minced words or phrases half-said. Everything has to be communicated perfectly.

“I wanna shout it from the rooftop,” Bucky says with a bark of a laugh. “I do! I wanna go to every major news network and tell them that I’m in love with Steve Rogers and he’s in love with me. Can you imagine that? Letting everyone know? It would be… madness,” he says with a laugh. “Madness,” he repeats as his smile drops. “But we can’t, can we?”

“Do your parents know?” Steve asks.

“That I’m gay? Yes. So does Becca.”

“Have you ever talked to them about—“

“Never saw the point,” Bucky says. “No need to make a fuss unless…”

“Unless you had someone, a relationship that you wanted to make public.”

Bucky blushes, glances down. “I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

“I don’t want to pressure you, either way. But I do want you to know that no matter what you choose, I’ll support you and stand by you.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

Steve cups Bucky’s cheek. “We deserve this,” he says and Bucky leans in for another kiss.

— —

They fall asleep tangled up with each other on Bucky’s bed. They didn’t do more than kiss — it’s been an eventful few days for the both of them, and they’re tired. When Steve wakes up early the next morning it’s next to Bucky, and it’s the best way that Steve can remember waking up in a long, long time. He’s not much of a sleeper anymore. The serum makes it so he can run on less sleep than the average person, and sleep seems to bring nothing but nightmares most nights. But with his arm wrapped around Bucky, holding him close and tight, he even manages to fall back asleep after the first time.

It feels so good. It feels right.

— —

The second time Steve wakes up he’s alone. He shoots up, blinking, and a little disoriented. He slept more than he has in ages, and he forgot what it felt like to wake-up groggy-headed. He’s rarely done so since the serum. But before he can worry himself about where Bucky is, he sees the note resting on the blankets over him.

 

> _Steve,_
> 
> _Thank you for last night. I had to get up to talk to my parents. I’ll be back soon. We should talk to each other._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _\- Bucky_

Steve smiles as he reads it, traces over the phrase ‘I love you’ and feels the indentation of the ballpoint pen Bucky wrote it with. Bucky has beautiful handwriting; it harkens back to penmanship training he had in school. There seems to be less of an effort made in penmanship nowadays, and it makes Steve smile to see the way that Bucky writes in cursive. It’s just another thing that they have in common, despite the all of the ways that people may assume that they’re different.

The door opens and Bucky steps through. “You’re awake,” he says.

“Just barely,” Steve says. He holds up the note. “Thanks for the note.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Bucky says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“I would’ve,” Steve says, smiling.

“I know,” Bucky says, smiling back. He looks down at his feet, cheeks pink. “So, good morning.”

“Same to you.”

Bucky clears his throat. “Rebecca is okay. The doctors looked at her, and they say nothing is wrong. She says that she was treated with respect. It’s a relief.”

“That’s great,” Steve says.

Bucky looks up again. “I talked to my parents and told them that you and I are together.” He holds himself a little taller when he says it, then looks at Steve. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

Steve grins. “I’m so happy to hear that, Buck. You have no idea.”

And it’s true, he’s glad that Bucky told his parents. He’s glad that Bucky felt comfortable enough with his family to do so, and excited that Bucky feels so excited about the two of them that he would.

Bucky looks down again, but he’s smiling now. “They said that they thought we’d been together much longer and just didn’t want to let them know. Isn’t that something?”

“It’s insightful,” Steve says.

Bucky nods. “And I told them that I wanna have a press conference.”

“Buck—“

He shakes his head. “Lemme finish. I… I’ve been thinking all night, and it’s not just about you,  or about us. It’s about me and what I need.” He looks up, and his cheeks are red but his eyes are piercing. “If something were to happen to Becca, her duties would be transferred to me. That’s a reality that I can’t escape, no matter how much I hope that never happens. My parents have no other children, so if it wasn’t me, if I were to abdicate, it would be my uncle and we all know he could never rule. So it has to be me. And if that were to happen, I wouldn’t want to live a double life or a lie. I wouldn’t want to marry a woman who I couldn’t love, and spend a lifetime lying to her. I wouldn’t want to lie to the United States, because despite all of its flaws, this is my country. And even if I don’t end up leading more than a barbershop quartet, it’s still wrong to lie. I want to be myself.” He exhales. “How’d that sound?” he asks.

“Like the truth, which is always the best thing. Not the easiest, but the best.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky admits, walking to the bed and sitting down next to Steve.

“That’s alright.” Steve starts rubbing Bucky’s back. Bucky smiles at him.

“Would you mind being there? If you’re not too busy?”

“Of course I can be there. When is it?”

“This afternoon,” Bucky says. Steve pauses his rubbing in surprise. “It’s soon. I wanted that, so I could do it before I lose my nerve.”

“Whatever you need,” Steve says, resuming his rubbing.

Bucky takes a long moment before he says, “I need to get ready. I need to look okay for this.”

“Getting a make-up team in here?” Steve asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m giving a press conference, not going on the war bonds circuit.”

“Really?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Really,” Bucky says, and before Bucky can open his smart mouth again, Steve starts tickling him, and doesn’t stop until Bucky is red-faced and grinning, rolling on his back on the bed with messy hair.

Steve never thought he’d ever have anything like this. It never seemed like it would be his lot in life. Yet, here he is, lying next to the greatest man in the world, and something inside him just feels so complete.

— —

Steve has time to kill before the press conference while Bucky is preparing. Bucky gave him directions to the library, so he’s going there to try to grab a book and focus on that, though his mind keeps wandering to Bucky and where he is.

He’s so busy worrying about Bucky that he doesn’t notice Princess Rebecca, future queen of the United States, sitting on a chair next to the fireplace in the library. “Oh,” Steve says. “Sorry.”

She looks up from the old book that she’s holding. “Hello,” she says. “You must be Captain Rogers.”

Steve swallows. “I am,” he says.

She and Bucky look almost startlingly similar, especially up close. Steve has seen photos of her, yes, and looked at her from afar at her wedding, but this close, they could be twins. She has the same cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Their hair color is the same — though hers is straighter than Bucky’s, but Steve doesn’t know if that’s her natural texture or not — and their noses are the same. She doesn’t have the same cleft chin that Bucky does, and her ears pop out less than his does, but they’re so similar that it’s almost strange.

But there are also differences. She carries herself with a ramrod straightness, and she moves with a grace and slowness that surprise Steve in comparison to Bucky’s suddenness and near-clumsiness. She must take after her mother in that way; he remembers how Queen Winifred’s stillness surprised them at their dinner.

She looks at him with icy eyes. “Are you here for the press conference?” she asks.

He nods. “Bucky asked me to,” he says.

She smiles with just one corner of her mouth. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

“Thank you,” Steve says.

There’s a long pause, where she just looks at him. “I’m very protective of my brother,” she says. Steve nods. “You seem to make him very happy. He always texts me after the two of you are together.”

“Thank you,” Steve says.

“You realize, though, that things will become complicated for you, your career.” He nods. “Being involved with a member of the royal family is not as painless as television would lead people to believe.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but I’m not one for television.”

She nods. “I wouldn’t have assumed you were, but I like to check.”

“With all of the boyfriends Bucky brings home?”

She smiles again, then looks away from Steve, almost as if she hadn’t meant to smile at all and doesn’t want him to see. “Boyfriend is an interesting word,” she says. “Does Bucky know you’re calling him your boyfriend?” she asks.

“We haven’t had a discussion about which terminology we’d like to use, but we’re together.” He shrugs. “I don’t think he’d mind the title, but I’ll double-check the next time we talk.”

She nods. “You seem very thoughtful.” She pauses, and takes a deep breath. For a moment she seems _tired_ , and Steve thinks of how much she’s been through in the past few days — her capture, and the subsequent way she talked herself out of it. Yet, she’s sitting here concerned about her brother and his new boyfriend. Bucky thinks the world of her, and Steve is starting to see why. “Anyhow,” she says after a pause, “you’re free to stay here if you’d like.”

“I was just wandering around.”

“I don’t mind the company,” she says. “I will go back to my book.” She looks back down at the hardcover book in her lap. Steve doesn’t ask what she’s reading or pry, he just picks something random off the shelf and takes a seat near her. They sit in silence.

— —

Bucky finds them a little later, wearing a grey suit and a smile. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Steve says, looking up from the book that he hasn’t been giving his full attention. He can’t help the way he perks up, and he sees Princess Rebecca look at him from the corner of her eye. Steve can’t bring himself to care — he loves Bucky, and it doesn’t matter who sees it.

“Brother,” Princess Rebecca says, smiling at him with a warmness that he hasn’t seen from her before in any context.

He also notices that she and Bucky look more similar when they smile than when they don’t.

“Glad to see you two are getting along,” Bucky says, “but I think it’s time.”

Steve nods. “Just lemme—“

“I can put that away for you,” Princess Rebecca says. “Just set it down on the table.”

“Alright, thank you.” Steve sets the book down on the table next to Princess Rebecca. She nods at him, then looks up to Bucky. “Are you sure you don’t want me there?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you there, just that I didn’t need you there.”

She shrugs. “Same thing,” she says with a small smile.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Get over yourself,” he says, and Steve cringes a little. Even if they are siblings, she’s still the next ruler of the United States.

She chuckles. “I’ll try, but no promises.” She exhales. “Best of luck, Bucky. If anything goes wrong…” she adds, trailing off.

“Nothing will,” he says, “but I’ll call you in.”

She nods again, then looks back down at her book. “Then go,” she says.

“C’mon,” Bucky says, gesturing to Steve. Steve heads to him, but is stopped short when Bucky reaches out and takes his hand, interlacing their fingers. “This okay?” he asks quietly.

“Of course,” Steve says, giving his hand a squeeze.

They set off to the press conference.

— —

Steve waits behind the curtain as Bucky heads to the podium of the White House Press Room. The press murmurs, confused as to why Prince James, of all people, would be holding a press conference today, especially given all of the things that have happened in the past few days. If Steve didn’t know why this was happening, he would be, too. Mostly, it seems, that people are excited.

Steve, however, isn’t. He’s nervous, and he balls his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Bucky got him a suit to wear — the stealth suit didn’t seem appropriate for the occasion — and he shoves his hands in the pockets. He’s jumped out of airplanes and helicopters, fought Nazis and aliens, and he hasn’t felt like he does now, heart beating so fast it could just take away at any moment. It’s worse when he couldn’t do anything when Bucky headed to podium. He couldn’t kiss him, touch him… Just wish him luck and watch him go.

When Bucky gets there, the room goes silent. He clears his throat and there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the air. “Hello,” he says.

There are a few ‘hellos’ from the audience, and some chuckling, but it goes quiet again quickly.

“I want to thank everyone in the press who is here today, and everyone else who may be watching this online or on the news. I appreciate your time, and hope that I won’t take too much of it.

“As you all know, I’m not someone who chooses to speak to a wide audience, usually. I tend to think of it as my sister’s purview, and despite tabloid attention, I prefer to stay behind the scenes. That being said, after the events of the past few days, I don’t feel that I can stay silent anymore.”

He pauses, looks down, and takes a deep breath. He’s being so strong, and Steve can barely contain the pride he has for the man who he has fallen in love with. It’s one thing to go up against an enemy who you know is evil. It’s another thing to face your own fears about who you are, and to present that to the world with pride and courage.

Bucky may not have walked into battle, but he’s as brave as Steve ever was, and ever will be.

“The first time the order of secession was explained to me, I was a child, and my sister had broken her arm. It was not a reason for concern, but there were a few moments where I was taken to a safe room and had the fact that if something were to happen to her, I would be next in line for the throne explained to me. At the time, the thought that anything would actually befall my sister felt a very foreign, ridiculous concept. Throughout most of our lives, I’ve felt the same way. Princess Rebecca has always been my sister, my mentor, and seemingly untouchable. I have never feared for her life, and I consider myself lucky to have never had to.

“When we were informed of what happened four days ago, my heart fell. First, for fear that my sister would be, in some way, harmed. I love my sister, and the thought that any harm should befall her sickens me. But, selfishly, I also felt an impending sense of dread in regard to my own future. While I have been trained and educated in case I were ever called to serve my country as a monarch, I have never seriously had a moment where I thought that this would come to pass. Yet, here I was, hearing that she was in danger, and that my fate may see me on the throne. When the thought crossed my mind, I could not help the subsequent thought that if I were to serve, it would be under a lie.”

There are murmurs from the crowd, and Bucky flinches a little. There’s a moment where Steve thinks Bucky may falter, and steels himself to rush the stage and do what he can to help. But despite the moment of insecurity, Bucky straightens up, and continues.

“For years, rumors have circulated about me on a variety of topics. Some of those rumors have been true, others false…” He pauses, smiles. “Some _laughably_ false,” he adds, and gets a weak chuckle from the crowd. “But I’m here, before you and the American people today, to confirm one rumor.

“I’m gay,” he says, and the room begins to buzz again.

He waits until the noise dies down, then continues, voice shaking just a little. “I’ve known for quite some time, but have kept it a secret. It was my choice to do so; my family supports me, no matter what. I kept it a secret because I was young and unsure, and because of the intolerance towards the LGBT community that comes from some American citizens. I was fearful, and selfishly wanted to keep this part of myself quiet in order to save myself the stress and grief involved with coming out. But what happened to my sister served as my wake-up call. By hiding this part of myself for so long, I have done a disservice both to myself and to my country. I know that things will be tougher for me from here on out, but I also know that I will be a better, happier person, more able and ready to help my country as I live authentically as myself for the first time in the public eye.

“I also hope that my coming out will serve as an inspiration to those in this country who have to live in fear and hiding. I hope that the youth of America know that I stand with them as an ally and a friend. I also hope it serves as a message to those in the United States who preach intolerance and hate that I will no longer hide myself out of fear of their judgment. This is who I am. I am not ashamed, and I refuse to live in fear any longer. I hope that, soon, no American will have to live in fear because of their sexuality, gender, or any other aspect of their identity. Thank you,” he says, “and I will take a few respectful questions now,” he says, causing the press corps to laugh.

And then there are a hundred hands shooting in the air, and so many people calling Bucky’s name. It’s like the room erupts all at once, and Bucky’s eyes widen.

Thankfully, the White House Press Secretary comes onto stage and calls on someone. The reporter thanks the Secretary, then asks, “Prince James — does your announcement have the President’s support?”

Bucky nods, but it’s the Press Secretary who says, “The President, who will release a statement in just a few minutes, has nothing but praise and good wishes for Prince James on this momentous announcement. He is a strong supporter of LGBT rights in the United States, and is excited to work with Prince James in a more open capacity on these issues. That being said, the White House was not consulted in regard to this announcement, nor would it be their place to _be_ consulted. This was Prince James’ decision, and his alone. The White House appreciated that Prince James informed us ahead of time of the announcement, however, and we are happy to be a part of his coming out. Thank you.”

He then calls on another reporter who asks, “Did the attempt on your life affect your decision to stay in the closet for so long? And are you worried about any public retribution for this announcement?”

Bucky flinches again, and Steve takes an angry breath through his nose, ready to go punch the reporter. Bucky had specified _respectful_ questions, which this is not. Bucky doesn’t talk about that attempt on his life, and the press should know better. Still, Bucky says, “I had not had any plans at the time to come out, and did not have plans to come out until the events of the past few days.” He pauses, takes a breath. “I also know that there are many in the United States who will take this as a shock, and may be reticent to accept me as I am. But I do not fear any American citizen, and refuse to do so. I have received threats throughout my life, and expect to receive more. That’s fine. I’ll deal with it. I have the support of my family, which is what I value most, and will figure everything else out along the way.”

He mutters something to the Press Secretary, who then says. “Okay, only one more” before calling on someone else.

“Prince James, are you seeing anyone right now?” she asks.

Bucky’s eyes go wide. Apparently, he hadn’t expected that one. He looks, for just a moment, over to Steve, waiting for him behind the wings. Then he looks back out at the audience. “I, uh, well, it’s…” he stammers.

Steve can’t take it anymore. He’s always jumped into things head-on, and this should be no exception. If Bucky can do this, so can he.

So Steve walks onto the stage. The press corps starts talking again, and there are bulbs flashing, but he just keeps his eyes on Bucky — who is staring at him with wide eyes — and smiles. Bucky gives him courage, and that’s what’s important here. And he doesn’t want to live in the shadows, either. It’s the future, and it’s time Steve acted like it. When he gets to the podium he wraps an arm around Bucky and says, “I’m Captain Steve Rogers, and I’d like to say that Bu— Prince James and I are seeing each other.”

Bucky looks up at Steve and grins. “Thanks,” he says, too quiet for the mic to pick up.

“We can do this together,” Steve says, leaning down and giving Bucky a peck on the lips as the press corps goes wild.

It’s the beginning of the next step in the rest of their lives, and as Bucky said, they’ll figure it out as they go along.

— —

**Two Years Later**

— —

This tuxedo feels weird.

So he tells Sam, “This tuxedo feels weird.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “All tuxedos feel weird to you because you’re so used to dressing like crap that you don’t recognize something sharp. This is your fault, man. You have all the money in the world and refuse to dress like it.”

“That’s a heckuva way to talk to a man on his wedding day,” he says.

“You see what all the headlines are saying?”

“I don’t tend to check them,” Steve says. “Besides, I’ve been busy.”

There was a bit of an emergency last night when the ambassador from Hungary said he could come at the last minute and they had to find a place for him to sit away from Tony Stark, because of what happened the last time they were together. (Tony knows what he did, but refuses to apologize.) And besides that, the past few months have been full with wedding plans, so much that Steve didn’t think they’d ever figure everything out. He hadn’t realized that planning a royal wedding would be more challenging than storming a Hydra base in Nazi Germany, but it seems like one of those things came more naturally to Steve than the other.

“One magazine was speculating as to whether you’d wear a kilt, as tradition.”

“Whose tradition?” Steve asks.

“Irish tradition?” Sam says, pulling out his phone and typing a few things. “And they think you’re gonna play the bagpipes. Steve, I didn’t know you played the bagpipes and I’m your best man. I feel like you’ve been holding out on me.”

“They would be wrong on both accounts,” Steve says, fiddling with his cufflinks. “And I’ve never liked the sound of the bagpipes.” He looks at himself in the mirror, straightens out his tuxedo jacket, and takes a deep breath. “I’m getting married,” he says, nodding.

Sam smiles. “Yeah you are,” he says, slapping a hand on Steve’s back. “You ready?”

Steve nods. “I am,” he says, more sure about this than he’s felt about anything in a long, long time.

— —

It feels like ages between seeing Bucky walk down the aisle and getting a moment just the two of them. Finally, after the ceremony, after the reception line, and after the meal, Steve gets to stand up for the first dance, and take Bucky in his arms. Sure, they’re surrounded by many of the most important people in the world, and there are cameras recording every move they make, but it’s finally just the two of them on the floor together.

“Alright everyone, I’m gonna sing a song that means a lot to this couple for their first dance as spouses,” says John Legend, Bucky’s favorite singer, who agreed to be the wedding singer. It had been one of Steve’s gifts to Bucky, and Bucky nearly started jumping up and down when Steve told him. Though he had been salty since he was supposed to be in charge of music, but Steve took the chance and it paid off. “So here’s ‘Beyond the Sea’.”

Bucky grins. “You like my choice?” Bucky asks as the band starts to play.

Steve nods, unable to keep his happy smile back. “I’m glad you remembered.”

“I don’t think I’ve been able to forget a single moment since we met,” Bucky says as John starts singing. They sway together, close and grinning. “It’s seemed too good to be true since the very beginning.”

“Me neither,” Steve says.

“I keep feeling like this is all a dream.”

“It’s real,” Steve says, dipping Bucky down. When he pulls him up, Bucky’s grinning. “This is all real.”

“I didn’t think that I could ever have this. Then I didn’t think I could ever have you,” he says.

“You have me for life, now,” Steve says. “I’ll always be by your side.”

“You promise?” Bucky asks.

Steve leans in and kisses him. “I promise.”

— —

**_Fin_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed the fic, please consider giving [this post](http://whtaft.tumblr.com/post/162335972949/the-royal-crown-cures-not-the-headache-by-mambo) a reblog on Tumblr, and/or giving me a follow at [whtaft](www.whtaft.tumblr.com).
> 
> WARNINGS: Characters deal with internalized homophobia, as well as a homophobic culture as a whole. In the past, a character is shot by a "religious" terrorist because he is gay. He makes a full recovery, but one of his security agents was killed. The character feels guilt over the incident. Characters drink alcohol and eat food.


End file.
